The first of this series of four small paintings presents a delicate bouquet of violet and purple flowers, captured with the precision of the pen and the ethereal softness of watercolour. There is no explicit background, no vase or landscape: just the flowers, floating on the paper, as if they have just been remembered rather than gathered. The pen defines the contours lightly, almost trembling, leaving space for the watercolour to unfold freely. The purple tones blend together in subtle shades, from a pale lavender to a deep, almost nocturnal violet. A few spots of colour escape the lines, overflowing, as if the flowers could not contain their own life. This small painting does not seek botanical realism, but atmosphere. It is a flower that speaks more of sensation than of species, more of memory than of form. There is something intimate, contained in it, like a thought that blooms in silence. It is the first of four pieces which, together, make up a fragmented garden: not a perfect garden, but one made of instants, of fleeting glances, of beauty found almost by chance.